Forget the tissues, grab a bucket.

A man wipes a tear from his face.
A man wipes a tear from his face.
Photo by Stocksnap on Pixabay

Need a good cry?

These 6 tearjerker songs about parenthood will have you blubbering like a newborn, then gazing at your “baby” — no matter how big or small.

For an extra tear-jerking spin, watch the videos, too.

Because all parents could use a good, healthy cry.

Seriously, The journal Scientific Reports discovered crying to music makes you feel better.

So crank up the tunes, grab a tissue (or a bucket), and listen to these tearjerker songs about kiddos growing up.

6 Tearjerker Songs about Parenthood

“Where are you going, my little one, little one?

Where are you going, my baby, my own?

Turn around…


The tough times taught me how the ultimate beauty lies in the mundane.

A woman sits within the rays of a sunset.
A woman sits within the rays of a sunset.
Photo by Jude Beck on Unsplash

“Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.” Robert Brault

I have always prided myself on my ability to practice gratitude.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve thanked the Lord for my blessings on the majority of my days.

Still, even as someone who continuously reminds themselves of their blessings, I admit, I take so much for granted.

Due to the state of our world, I’ve been reflecting on which moments in my life have impacted my gratitude the most.

Ironically, I found the key moments in my life…


Mom of two, freelance writer, peanut butter lover.

A picture of the author that has been rendered as a painting.
A picture of the author that has been rendered as a painting.
Photo courtesy of Cartoonize.net

Accept what people offer. Drink their milkshakes. Take their love.”

Wally Lamb

Hey there! I’m Amanda — mom of two, freelance writer, and peanut butter lover, but let’s start from the VERY beginning.

I was born (and raised) in a teeny Southern Vermont town where my parents owned the only grocery store. I began “working” there when I was 7 — bagging bagels counts! I eventually ran a register, baked, stocked shelves, and rocked customer service.

While in Vermont, I got into sports and was a tri-varsity athlete in basketball, soccer, and…


How our daily commute sheds light on the metaphors of wind

A young boy pokes his head out of a car window.
A young boy pokes his head out of a car window.
Photo by Anton Luzhkovsky on Unsplash

“If the wind brushes against you, do not complain; it brushes against everyone.”
Matshona Dhliwayo

“Can I feel the wind on my face for a minute, mommy?” My sweet, 5-year old asks every morning — on our half-hour commute.

“Yes, honey, of course, you can,” I always say as I roll down the window, glance at the rearview mirror, and watch my boy close his eyes and smile. His rusty brown hair flows in all directions.

This is one of my favorite daily occurrences.

These days, when venturing in public resembles a dystopian novel, political flags appear everywhere, and…


Trying to make sense of our political world.

A girl takes duct tape off of her mouth.
A girl takes duct tape off of her mouth.
Photo by Maria Krisanova on Unsplash

I’ve been a people pleaser since I can remember, and for most of my life when it came to controversial conversations, I’d shy away or stay silent. Some close friends never even knew my political affiliation.

Controversy has never been my thing.

Then I became an official writer, and life spilled on the page.

For someone known for shying away from conflict — exposing my innermost opinions and thoughts to the world was terrifying.

But I did it, and in the last three years, I’ve tackled sensitive subjects on parenting, gender inequality, education, and more.

I’ve come a long way and learned that I can’t please…


A poem about returning to Londonderry, VT.

A young woman dives into a lake.
A young woman dives into a lake.
Photo by Todd Quackenbush on Unsplash

Here I am —

nestled in the mountains of Londonderry . . .
again.

My love/hate relationship with this town-
more prevalent than ever.

I’m wide awake at 3 am,
contemplating if it’s due
to the three rounds of Refresh Tazo
or the Kombucha fungus-like tea
I now homebrew.

Or maybe I’m up due to the typical swirling thoughts that occupy a 22-year-old’s frantic mind.

Who knows? It’s 3 am.

Home for the summer
after teaching approximately 3,500
children in the woods and working abundant days
from 8-10.

Now, I play kickball every Monday, soccer with the local men’s beer…


No doubt, my mom has been my rock.

Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Elly Fairytale on Pexels

It’s 9:30 am. My mom and I just finished our morning cups of coffee…via our Echo Shows.

Since deciding to stay clear from each other due to the pandemic and the fact she has a preexisting condition, this is how we meet daily.

Still, my mom and I talk every day, usually more than once.

I call her to vent about the weight I feel while staying close to home, watching children, and working remotely — simultaneously.

I confide to her that I know how lucky I am, but times are tough, and I’m feeling more pulled in numerous directions…


Welcome to my freelancer lifestyle.

A frustrated freelancer sits at the computer and chews pencils.
A frustrated freelancer sits at the computer and chews pencils.
Photo by JESHOOTS.COM on Unsplash

“A dream doesn’t become reality through magic; it takes sweat, determination and hard work.” Colin Powell

What is it like to be a freelancer? From my experience, highs and lows. Highs and lows.

It’s one of those crazy weeks — magazines are due, interviews are scheduled, blog post deadlines linger…

You know, business as usual.

I was just truckin’ along with my steady clients, and then one of my favorite, unpredictable clients emailed with a sweet project offer I didn’t want to refuse.

So, what did I do?

I read the project specs, goggled at the high offer, then ignored…


A poem.

A young man looks towards a lake surrounded by woods.
A young man looks towards a lake surrounded by woods.
Photo by Alexandr Podvalny on Pexels

Stand up tall, expose pride
and stability.

Throw away any destructive materials
into a hollow canyon —
watch as they melt into the air.

Stand with me,
hold my hand,
smile.

See what I see inside.

Pry through the darkened tunnel
and leave those footprints behind.

Gaze forward,
and pray for showers of light to blanket us
while shedding a rainstorm of gold
on your forehead.

Don’t you understand?
We represent each other now.

We can be magnificent towers or a pile of dust.

An awakening knocks at your door. louder and louder — it pounds like a heavy shoe…


A poem about how a massacred tree became a symbol of unity

A lone tree on a hill with the moon in the background.
A lone tree on a hill with the moon in the background.
Photo by Adrian Lang on Pexels

When I was very young
my neighbors planted a tree
on the hill
across the street.

They owned half of the land,
and they wanted to leave a mark.

Claim their territory —
like the colonial farmers
with hand-made stone walls.

They craved a larger statement than the bright orange spray paint
that also lined their lawn.

For years I watched the tree grow.

Nothing for a while, then, finally,
a narrow stick —
with no leaves.

When I returned from college
one summer,
it was almost there.

Long, slender limbs reached towards the sky; it was stronger and had…

Amanda Clark-Rudolph

Amanda is a work at home mama who contributes to various magazines and blogs. Contact her at writeonfreelancingllc@gmail.com for interview or blog articles.

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